


Consideration For Scoundrels

by Paperback_Librarian



Category: The Bone Season - Samantha Shannon
Genre: Bone Season AU, Multi, Samantha Shannon, Scion - Freeform, Sheol 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6872200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paperback_Librarian/pseuds/Paperback_Librarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the noose of Scion continues to strangle Great Britain, Ireland fights vigorously for independence. Aoife Blackwater, leader of one of the four factions of Dublin's voyant syndicate, must choose which of her three children will succeed her throne. One cunning, one ruthless and one patient. But as the three fight to win, the threat from across the sea looms ever closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

County Cavan, Ireland  
Year 2050  
Prologue 

Aoife Blackwater hated her husband. No, hated was perhaps too strong a term for her feelings towards him. Hate after all, held merit, and that would be giving a man like Liam O’Sullivan far too much credit. She found him to be unforgivingly weak in both mind and constitution; meek. 

Still, Aoife thought as she peered through the steam rising from her tea cup at Liam, nose buried in the morning paper, she supposed there must be some tenderness left for him in her heart. After all, she had yet to smother him in his sleep these last twenty years. He’d given her three children, three girls born one after the other, and although a Carromancer had once foretold all Aoife’s children would be some manner of unnatural, it seemed more and more likely with each passing year that the youngest girl, Rosaline, was not. 

Perhaps that was Liam’s fault too. 

The eldest girl, Carynn was a Sciomancer, same as her mother. Shadows dripped like fountain ink from the tips of her long, deft fingers. They skulked in all hidden nooks and crannies of Cavan by day, enveloping secrets and the lips that whispered them. By night, they leeched in to the city, into every street, tavern and home. In the hands of a talented mistress, they could be crafted solid long enough to strangle a man in his sleep, and dissipate into nothingness with a flex of the mind.

Her looks favored her father, much to Aoife’s disappointment. Her hair was a light shade of auburn, her complexion fair. The girl’s eyes however were neither her mother’s deep amber nor her father’s watery grey, but a deep shade of blue. Carynn was efficient, quiet and above all else, obedient.  


Maeve, Aoife’s middle girl had a streak of cruelty in her that could, at times, unsettled even Aoife herself. But what could one expect from a Macharomancer? She was as sharp as her knives, hidden edges that at the slightest touch would tear you to the bone. With tawny skin and glossy black hair, Maeve Blackwater stalked with the sure grace of a panther. Her eyes were a dark cognac, flecked with bronze. She was both beautiful, and terrible.

The youngest of the three, Rosaline, or Rosie as she was called, was decidedly very un-unnatural. Aoife had once hoped she would exhibit the same manner of clairvoyance as her older sisters, but as time passed, she began to worry her last born wouldn’t even be skilled enough to decipher a simple tarot deck. It was perhaps by a cruel trick of fate that she above her two sisters most closely resembled their mother. Her hair was a rich brown, her eyes sharp, a polished set of amber stones. As far as physical nature was concerned, Rosaline Blackwater was her mother’s daughter.

Thus they were; the three Blackwater athelings. 

And so Aoife was not surprised when she gathered the three to her that night and told them of her intention to name a single one among them her successor, they reacted in precisely the way she had expected. 

If Carynn, whom they had all assumed had the claim by mere birthright, was unsettled by her mother’s announcement, she did well to keep her face a mask. Maeve on the other hand regarded her elder sister with a simmering malice in her bright eyes. A flash of white as her mouth twisted in to a half-snarl, half-grin; a predator who had come across wounded prey. Rosaline of course, looked disinterested. Surely she was only here to bear witness to a competition between her two elder sisters? 

“When will you decide?” Maeve asked at last.

“Not today, not tomorrow. But soon.”

Rosie could practically hear the growl writhing low in her sister’s throat. For a moment her eyes darted to Carynn, as if she feared for her eldest sister’s well being in that very moment. This would end in blood, for that she had no doubt, and she did not intend to bleed. Not for her sake, and certainly not for either or theirs. Though she would admit to herself, Carynn would be a far better choice than Maeve. 

Aoife watched the silent exchange. She saw Rosie’s immediate distrust of Maeve, her instinct towards Carynn. Truly, she considered for a second that that should have decided for her, then and there which of her three should inherit her place as Thiar Ceannairí of County Cavan. But there were of course, other matters to consider.

With Scions rope tightening around Ireland’s neck with each passing year, Maeve’s ruthlessness could keep the voyants under her thumb from hanging. Or, Carynn’s cool pragmatism would ensure their survival. Even Rosie had her own merits, if only her power would bloom!

“The three of you will begin to prepare for your future.”

Maeve snorted.

“You mean, the two of us.”

Aoife’s eyes narrowed, her tone dangerous. “I mean, Maeve, what I say. I am considering the three of you in my decision to succeed me as Thiar Ceannairí. 

Rosie’s face burned at her mother’s words. Aoife’s anger was directed at Maeve yes, but somehow she seemed to feel their bite just as sharply. 

“Voyants won’t obey someone who can’t even see the aether! Let alone access it!”

“They will obey whomever I tell them to.” Aoife’s voice was even, deadly. “And you, Maeve, you will obey.” Maeve sat down, and Aoife looked at her three daughters. “Go now, sleep on what I’ve told you.”

All three doubted that they would sleep at all that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Rosie slipped form her window and on to the roof. She shut and eyes and breathed in the crisp air. 

The night pulled at her, not in the voyant sense unfortunately, but something more primal. Rosie looked to the west, beyond the river to where the Necropolis housed the dead of the county. If she concentrated, she could see the wink of a torch, a pinprick of light in the darkness and smiled to herself. There were plenty of Necromancers in Dublin, one or two scavengers in particular she knew with some familiarity.

She shimmied down from the roof, her boots hitting the cobbled pavement in silence as she slipped in to the city.

Home wasn’t an option tonight.

Before long, Maeve’s simmering rage would boil over, and she’d begin to prowl. Rosie preferred not to be at the receiving end of whatever release quenched that fire. Her limbs were marked with fine white lines, each one a reminder of the Macharomancer’s intemperate nature.

Rosie let her feet direct her, putting as much distance between herself and the residence as possible while her mind wandering elsewhere. One of the first lessons she’d learned as a child was how to disappear; from home, from the room, from the world. It was safer to remain unseen, even as an Amorotic.

Her mother’s words burned in her mind. Aoife was Thiar Ceannairí, the Western leader of Free Ireland’s voyant syndicate. It was still unknown if unnaturalism was inherited or chance, whether the aether clung to genetics like hair color or chose whoever it may. Still, Rosie knew her existence was a blight on her mother’s image of absolute power.   
And now she was her potential heir. 

“Not me.” Rosie said aloud. 

Most of the shops were already shuttered tight, locked until morning. Even if someone did come across her, alone and seemingly unarmed, Aoife had made sure Rosie was anything but defenseless. Brutal training, made all the more difficult without a scrap of aid from the aether. 

“Maeve will kill me before I even stand a chance.”

Even Carynn could potentially see enough of a reason to eliminate her youngest sister from consideration. She was a different creature from Maeve, cold and calculating as opposed to their sister’s fire and passion. Still, if Rosie had to ally herself with one of them, her eldest sister was the obvious choice. Carynn had never possessed the same cruel nature as Maeve, and Rosie was fond of her for it.

If she couldn’t sleep, Rosie decided, she might as well get drunk.

The Golden Swan served an ale so thick you could chew it. Rosie drank greedily as a football match flickered on the television mounted above the bar. She nibbled on her fish and chips, the air around her buzzing with people and noise. The crowded room, the cheering, shouting, the sound of glass clinking and rise of a dozen incoherent conversations made her mind quiet. 

Someone took a seat beside her.

Kahlan O’Rourke, daughter of the Thuaidh Ceannairí, the Northern head was near Rosie’s own age. Her hair was dark as ink, worn long and loose. Her eyes were bright, even beneath the gaslights of the pub. She was of course, flanked on all sides of the establishment by varying members of her tight inner circle. A Necromancer and Psycopher hovered near the door, while Kahlan’s cousins, the Hydromancer and Pyromancer set of twins, stood only paces away. 

Rosie’s eyes didn’t leave the television screen. “I was here first.”

“Póg mo thóin Blackwater.” Kahlan nodded to the barkeep. “What brings you out in to the shadows mo cara?”

Rosie grinned. If there was one person in the world Maeve despised more than Rosie herself, it was the O’Rourke aethling seated at her right. Unlike Maeve, Kahlan was undisputed in her own claim to heirship. Fifth born of six children, sixth of nine O’Rourke aethlings in total. What she could do was still a mystery to Rosie, but the rumor had always been that the girl was a Polymancer, one of the rare few able to control more than one aspect of the aether. 

“A talent competition.” Rosie answered dryly.

Kahlan snorted. 

That was all the O’Rourke would get out of her. Voyant or no, Rosie was a Blackwater to her bones; she’d die before revealing any inner discord between her clan and their grip on the West. News would find its way to light soon enough, but in due time.

“What brings the lot of you to this shithole?”

“They refuse to play the Galway matches at the Ceili.” Kahlan drank deeply. Wiping her mouth she continued, “I have more than a few bob riding on this one.”  
Rosie cracked a smile. She couldn’t help it, the O’Rourke lot were descent enough in separate pieces. The Hydromancer, an ashy blonde, took a seat beside her cousin. Tory O’Rourke, Kahlan’s the honey-tongued Mollisher. As quick with her fists as she was with a joke.

“Montgomery has been moving numen through the docks.” The blonde kept her voice low, eyes straight ahead. “We’ve been trailing his sales for weeks now. Cuts the goods and sells to small time voyants at a fraction of what we charge.”

“All the while charging us an arm and a leg.”

“Exactly.” 

Numen trafficking was one of the many ways the four families of the Ireland syndicate kept their grip on the voyants in their territories. It kept the black market regulated, less likely to be discovered by Scion’s agents, while lining their pockets as well.

“I’ll tell the Thiar Ceannairí.” Rosie promised.

“We’re going to take care of it.” Kahlan said firmly. “Tonight.”

Blood pounded in Rosie’s ears. “Is that so?”

“Consider this a courtesy.” 

“No.” Rosie pushed her tool away from the bar. “I’m going with you.”

The cousins exchanged a look. It was common enough knowledge that Rosie was an Amorotic. Still, she was a member of one of the four families, and was, in theory, owed the same courtesies as her older sisters were allotted. 

Finally, Kahlan nodded. She put a stack of notes on the counter and inclined her head towards the three voyants drifting through the crowd.

“Let’s go then.”


End file.
